After missing some calls, a concerned Chris Chappell called and wanted to see what I was up to, and more importantly, if I was still alive.  We made plans to head out to catch some day shows with Liz and their four month old heavyweight child, Finn.  I met up with the caravan and we made our way across town, with an absolutely dizzying array of sights scattered up and down Sixth Street.  Chris watched with glee as a punk rocker in a man skirt and fishnets made his way up the road.  He commented how easy life must be if you just pick a style, and live it - never changing for fads or the like.  I figured its probably easier just to get a job and watch a lot of TV at night, or smoke a lot of pot and let the world go by. I also wondered aloud wether or not the dirty window I tried taking pictures out of was from the dog or from the other children licking the window.  Chris and Liz both blamed it on condensation.  They finally unlocked the child lock and I rolled my problem out of my way.

We pulled up to South Congress, parked the minivan, and moved Finn into a stroller.  As we did, two punk rock girls with a baby strolled past us, in tights, short skirts and sexy boots.  An oldies band was playing in front of Rue's Antiques, playing standard, crowd-rousing oldies that appeal to that part of baby boomer culture that thankfully is slowly being eroded away into retirement homes across the land.  Liz and her classically trained ear, nearly had a seizure as the tuxedo clad man in tennis shoes started to wail away.  Chris and I admired his self painted outsider art-like car while Liz held the baby with a sinister frown on her face.  We left, headed up to Jo's Coffee and caught some of Dale Watson's set before heading to dinner at Austin's best place to gripe about: the new Whole Foods Market.

Despite my reservations about the place, its unnecessarily posh environment (the deli folks blow a sea conch and announce bologna is on sale), I can't really say its horrible.  I'm sure my mom would compare it to anyplace she shops regularly at in Orange County.  Perhaps that is what is wrong with it, in the heart of Austin.  Anyway, we ordered some dinner plates and ate on the patio level overlooking the street traffic and the impressive view of the greenbelt and west Austin at night.  It was great.

After dinner, we kept heading north, this time to Hyde Park to catch Philip Trussell's art opening.  The show was unreal - I've seen most of the work over the past few months in various states of progress and yet, it still blew me away.  The technique, attention and skill of his paintings honestly inspires awe in my little bones.  It's always good to see Philip on the opening night as well - he's a bit bubbly, surrounded by a large cast of familiar faces, and seems to enjoy the rare moment of being in the spotlight and gauging reactions to his work.  He had already sold the complete sets of blue and brown paintings that struck my fancy over the rest of the show, but they were fairly amazing to see and enjoy again.

At the show, I caught up with a lot of folks I haven't seen in a bit - Scott from Effing Press, Philip's student Brian, and some other painters and writers who are always great folks to hang out with and talk to.  While taking a break from the show on the back patio, an older man wearing a plaid shirt with a white beard and glasses stumbled out and kicked around some empty coolers looking for another beer. 

We all shrugged our shoulders at him and as he cursed at the notion of having drank his last beer, I tried to comfort him by saying, "You know, there's some fine art to look at on the walls, maybe you could take a look.".  I thought he'd be on his way, but he took the bait.  He turned around, and said the only one he wanted was sold already.  John, a writer I was talking to, was as amused by him as I was.  He asked what drew him to that one over all the others.  "Finished lines, everything is smoothed over." 

Like a cat toying with a cornered mouse, John unleashed his ruthless yet reserved sarcasm out at this poor man, who was bobbing like a buoy.  "Yeah, don't let those unresolved lines sneak up on you in the middle of the night, they're scary that way."  The man kept fighting, but his cause was lost, and finally, after gaining the attention of everyone on the patio, he walked in.  I saw him later with some wine, which must have soothed his pain a bit.

I went back in to the show after meeting up with Laura, and we perused the work together.  Seeing it for a third, fourth time only made my appreciation of the work grow even more.  After a bit, I corralled Philip, thanked him and saw a genuine smile on his face that just beamed across the room.  I said my goodbyes, and was inspired to get into studio and just start getting things together again.

But Laura had Saturday off, and wanted to head downtown to catch a bit of the SXSW action she'd heard from me all week.  With one day left, I couldn't say no, so we ventured into town around noon...

A new view of SXSW: from the back of a minivan.

Even punk rock girls grow up and have kids.


This punk rock man wore fish nets and a man skirt.

The Oldies Band truck with dancers aloft.

Liz despised this band because they sounded bad.  I disliked the lead singer's sneakers.

The art of Philip Trussell.  A mind-blowing show.

Two of the local art moochers - chances are really, really good you'll see them at the keg and food table of any art opening in Austin.  That belly disgusts me.  So does his clean white sneakers.